Mpreg But Not
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Wilson starts exhibiting some... interesting... symptoms, due to a tumor. Kind of crack, but not really. NO BABIES, I PROMISE! This was started way back when people on sick!wilson/sick!house were arguing about whether mpreg should be allowed on those coms


"House," said Wilson, coming in off the balcony.

"What?" asked House, not looking up from his book.

"House."

House looked up, "What is it, alread...."

He stopped.

Wilson's shirt was wet.

In two splotches.

On his chest.

House stared for a moment.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked, weakly.

Wilson shook his head, looking very upset.

House put down his book.

"Are they... uh, swollen?"

Wilson nodded.

House scratched the back of his head.

"Um, well... you're not taking any medications other than the antidepressants, right?"

"Right," said Wilson, in a very small voice. This was horrible, and humiliating. But at least House had reacted in a 'feeling very awkward because my male friend just started lactating' way, rather than a 'ahahaha! You've got breasts! Haha!' way.

House sighed, reaching for the phone.

"What are you doing?!" asked Wilson, diving for the phone.

House blinked at him.

"Calling an endocrinologist."

Wilson blinked.

"Oh."

House rolled his eyes, and finished dialing.

"Who are you calling?" asked Wilson.

"Cuddy."

"House!"

Cuddy sighed, opening the door. House had flat out said his patient was a guy with breasts, so she wasn't too worried that this was some further trick.

She stopped cold.

Wilson.

Table.

Boobies.

Wet boobies.

Cuddy closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she opened them, and shut the door quickly behind her.

"When did this present?"

Wilson sighed, obviously relieved that she was handling this in a professional manner.

"A few weeks ago. The... growth, anyway. I've been gaining weight, so I thought they were just fat deposits... then they started... uh... leaking, about an hour ago."

Cuddy nodded, gently pressing around Wilson's nipples. This made more whitish discharge come out, and Wilson blushed.

Cuddy smiled encouragingly at him, then continued the exam.

House watched all this from a corner, silent.

Wilson had to be thinking it—the most likely cause was a tumor. Pituitary, probably.

Cuddy finished, and looked at House.

"Can you go tell Brenda to schedule an MRI?"

"Already did that."

Cuddy nodded, looking back at Wilson.

"I know you know the likely diagnosis."

Wilson nodded, looking completely depressed.

"But," said Cuddy, lifting his chin with a finger, "You also know that most gland tumors are very treatable."

"I've told dozens of patients that, and seen them die a few months later," said Wilson, pulling away from Cuddy's finger and looking at the floor.

Cuddy glanced at House.

"And how many more have you told that, and seen them be completely fine?" asked House, sounding annoyed.

Wilson looked at him.

Then he smiled a little, faintly.

"Thanks, House."

House rolled his eyes, looking uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Twenty minutes later, Wilson was lying in the MRI, listening to the big magnet thunking around him and trying to keep the fear to manageable levels.

'Wilson, you need to stop moving so much.'

"Sorry."

House sighed, watching the image blur then sharpen, blur then sharpen.

He knew Wilson was upset, knew how it felt to be lying under a big machine, waiting for a diagnosis he already knew.

A sudden idea hit him, and he grinned.

'Wilson. This is Satan.'

Wilson smiled, laughing a little.

"Two millimeter mass on your pituitary," said House, frowning at the MRI slice on a light box in the viewing room.

Wilson sighed, nodding, as he looked at the next slice down.

"It doesn't look too bad though...." he said, considering.

House nodded.

"Yeah, caught it early. Looks like it's pretty stable, actually. Might not even be cancer."

Wilson nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thanks for doing this, House."

House shrugged.

"Like I'd trust anyone else."

Wilson smiled, happy that House cared enough to act possessive.

"Still, thanks."

House left.

Wilson smiled, shaking his head.

Then he looked down, and sighed. He needed to change his shirt. Again.

A week later, they did another MRI, finding no change in the tumor size.

Wilson sighed, slipping the last sheet into an envelope as House and Cuddy talked quietly to each other, a few feet away.

He looked at them, and House stopped, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you think, oh great oncologist?"

Wilson smiled a little, rolling his eyes.

"I think there's no need for surgery right now. As long as the symptoms... well, I mean, I'd rather not have them, but they're also pretty mild—for having cancer, anyway."

"You don't actually know it's cancer yet, do you?" asked Cuddy, frowning.

Wilson shrugged.

"No, but we decided to act as though it was, just in case."

"You should biopsy, though."

Wilson sighed.

House narrowed his eyes.

"You're scared to have the biopsy, aren't you?"

Wilson looked at him.

"Yeah." he said, flatly.

House rolled his eyes, "grow a set."

Wilson paused for a moment. Then he grinned a little.

"I think I already did."

House and Cuddy blinked at him for a moment.

Then they both laughed.

"House, have you got any extra shirts?"

House blinked.

"You've got like ten in your office."

Wilson blushed.

House snorted.

"You soaked through *all* of them?"

Wilson nodded mutely.

House rolled his eyes and tossed Wilson a shirt out of his duffle.

"Thanks, House."

House shrugged, as Wilson quickly changed.

Then he tilted his head, blinking.

"Wilson... are you still putting on weight?"

Wilson looked at him, blinking.

"Um, yeah. Why?"

"Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

Wilson looked down at himself.

"What? I know they're getting bigger, but..."

"Not the boobs, the belly."

Wilson blinked, "I can't really see it that well."

House snorted, getting up.

"You look like... ok...."

Wilson looked at him.

"What? What is it, House?"

"I think... ok, I think you need to talk to Cuddy."

Wilson frowned, "Why?"

"Because you look like you're pregnant."

Wilson turned white, then scarlet.

"Crap!"

House nodded.

Cuddy sighed, rolling her eyes.

"No, Wilson is not pregnant, you jerk."

House snorted, and Wilson blinked.

"What?"

"And you're a moron for believing him. You don't even have a vagina, Wilson. Come on, you're a doctor."

Wilson blushed, "sorry. But, seriously, it looks just like--"

"That isn't to say your hormones don't think you are."

Wilson blinked.

"Oh."

Wilson groaned, leaning over the trash can.

House poked his head into the office, then withdrew it, wrinkling his nose.

"Your puke stinks." he said through the door.

"My apologies." grunted Wilson, resting his head on his arm, which was resting on his desk.

House sighed, and came back in.

"What'd you tell your patients?"

"That I've got a hormone imbalance and no I'm not actually... you know. Actually, a bunch of them kind of related to the tumor, talked about stuff they might not have otherwise."

House snorted, "We should schedule another MRI, you know."

Wilson sighed, looking at him.

"Yeah, I know."

House narrowed his eyes, "You're not still all scared, are you?"

Wilson's expression was enough.

House sighed, shaking his head.

House sighed as he heard a knock on the door, taking his hands off the piano.

"I'm not getting up, unlock it yourself!"

the door opened, revealing Wilson leaning on the wall, looking utterly miserable.

"My wife... um... she'd rather I stayed somewhere else... for a while."

House paused for a moment, then jerked his thumb at the couch.

"The light's always on—making it hard to go to sleep, but whatever."

Wilson laughed tiredly, dragging his suitcase inside.

House watched him closely, frowning.

He was really starting to look worn down, tired out by the health issues and dealing with everyone around him.

House tossed him a blanket, then sat down on the couch next to him, flicking the tv on.

Wilson sighed, long and exhausted.

God, it was nice to be back here.

House had done absolutely nothing different but be a little awkward about the situation, and a bit possessive about the medicine. The first had faded over a month ago, the second was welcome and touching.

House blinked, as Wilson slumped sideways against him, snoring lightly.

He watched his friend for a while, then smiled, shook his head, lifted his bad leg onto the table in front of him, and closed his eyes.

He had to admit, Wilson was a little cute like this. Not the boobs and belly, the tired and cuddly.

Wilson groaned, reaching for the trash can off the bed.

He didn't find it, he found a face.

He opened his eyes.

House. House's apartment. House's couch. No trash can. Oh crap.

House grunted, handing him yesterday's beer glass.

Wilson sighed, lying in the MRI for the fifth time that month. House and Cuddy were refusing to lessen the frequency of the scans because they still didn't know what kind of tumor it was.

God, his back hurt....

"Wilson, you've done this before. You need to stay still."

Wilson sighed again, and stopped trying to rub his back.

"Sorry. This thing needs more padding."

He heard House snort over the microphone.

House sighed, looking at his pager. Wilson. That meant he actually should get it.

"What?"

Wilson looked at him, from his position of being doubled over, one hand bracing himself on his knee, the other on his back.

"My back went out."

House blinked at him for a moment.

Then he nodded, and ducked under Wilson's arm, helping him straighten out.

"Ow!"

"Shut up."

Wilson bit his lip, beads of sweat on his forehead.

House helping him to the couch, grunting with his own pain.

"Ok..." panted House, as he finally got his friend settled, "You good?"

Wilson nodded.

House left to go back to his office.

Wilson sighed, closing his eyes.

Then they snapped open, and he yelled with pain.

House hurried back into his friend's office, to find Wilson struggling to sit up, but utterly failing. He was very pale, and shaking.

House put his arms under Wilson's armpits, lifting as hard as he could without his bad leg going out.

Wilson sighed, panting, as the crick in his back was straightened out.

"What happened?" asked House, grunting with the effort of keeping his increasingly heavy friend upright.

"The couch isn't flat enough... sorry."

House sighed, and helping him onto the floor.

A few hours later, he opened his eyes as the balcony door opened, only to find House's team standing there, looking doubtful.

"Uh... hi?"

Cameron sighed, "House wants us to do a biopsy."

Wilson groaned, closing his eyes.

"Can you at least wait until my back feels better?"

"Er, we're supposed to help with that too."

Wilson blinked.

"He asked you to do that?"

Foreman smirked at his confusion.

"After pacing for half an hour, reading three endocrinology journals Cuddy lent him, and pacing for another hour, yeah, he asked us to do that."

Wilson blinked.

"It' cancer," announced Chase—Cameron had left a while ago, uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Foreman sighed, nodding.

House sighed as well, and started pacing again.

Foreman and Chase glanced at him, then at each other, and back at House.

"You gonna tell Wilson? Or should we?" asked Foreman.

House looked at them.

"I don't know. I should, but he's scared enough... no, he should hear it from me."

Foreman and Chase stared at him.

"It's cancer."

Wilson stared at him.

House blanched, as Wilson's face went white, and the younger doctor crumpled to the floor. He knelt, leaning over his friend, shaking him.

"Wilson? Wilson, are you ok? Come on, Wilson, wake up."

Wilson groaned a little, but didn't open his eyes.

House sighed. Wilson looked exhausted all the time now, he could probably use the rest.

Wilson grunted, opening his eyes.

He was in House's apartment, on the couch. A pillow was under his back, another under his head, and House was playing the piano softly in the corner.

"House? What happened?"

House turned, shrugging.

"You fainted."

Wilson blinked at him.

"Why'd I faint?"

"You don't remember? We got the results of the biopsy back."

Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I remember now." he muttered.

House nodded, turning back to the piano.

A few minutes passed.

"Thanks for getting me here."

"Yeah."

Another few minutes of silence.

"They need to operate, don't they?"

"Unless you feel like getting a metastasized brain tumor on top of looking and feeling like you're pregnant, yeah, they gotta operate."

"Right."

Wilson sighed, as House grinned reassuringly at him.

He was lying on the operating table. Half the hospital was there—nobody wanted to lose the head of oncology on the table. Half the hospital was in the room, but House was the one standing there, holding his hand and grinning.

He knew House was scared too. He knew that. He knew that the grin was just a facade, that underneath House was terrified of losing his only friend. But he appreciated the effort.

Suddenly, House leaned over him, ignoring everyone watching, and kissed him gently on the lips.

Wilson swallowed, staring up at him.

House looked upset, now, the facade gone.

Wilson lay there, emotions roiling through him at the shock.

Then he smiled.

House sighed, relieved.

The mask was lowered over his face, and his eyes drifted shut.

The last thing he saw before they closed was House's face, and he was glad.

"Dammit Wilson! You do too need to eat!"

"I'm trying to lose weight."

"Fine! Don't eat! Just cook!"

Wilson laughed, shaking his head, and reached for a pan.

He was interrupted by a kiss.


End file.
